


Wonders

by AeeDee



Category: DCU (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dark, M/M, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this <a href="http://comaagain.tumblr.com/post/17765940231/old-doodle-bruce-is-such-a-dick-did-they-wipe">illustration</a>. Based on the events of <i>Under the Red Hood</i>. Bruce does a certain terrible thing to Jason...</p><p>Bruce/Jason is implied, but it can be platonic. This isn't a romantic story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonders

Is this what dying feels like…

It’s a strange realization. He’s experienced it before, but he doesn’t remember it. Like a bad dream, the images and the flashes of pain are burned into his memory in a hazy, vague series of images and sensations. In his dreams it’s more clear; in his dreams he can see everything.

Every single second, and his mind can replay the record exactly as it occurred. The surprise, the unsettling shock, that twist in his gut at knowing he was wrong. The spark of fear that he buried behind a cocky smile. The sinking feeling—the slow, sinking feeling that makes him nauseated to even think about—when he realized that he was going to feel pain—a lot of pain—and the frustration when he realized it wouldn’t stop.

It was an insult to his pride, to be beaten. His ego took irreparable damage; he’d always believed he was powerful. He’d always believed that even the worst challenges were effortless. That it was a matter of finding the right moment, the exact right second, and the exact right instance to turn it all around. That if he was smart enough, quick enough, good enough, he could take the upper hand. That it wasn’t a problem to be small, to be young, to be vulnerable, because he was a tough little shit and that was what mattered more than anything.

Bruce taught him to be strong. He taught him to look past his fear; to push it into the far corners of his mind.

But when he started to choke on his own blood, he felt afraid. When the pain didn’t stop. When his heart couldn’t slow down. When it started to hurt to breathe. When his body started to shake. When he heard that man laughing—that fucker, he was _laughing_. When he heard that laugh, and saw the timer, conveniently placed in front of his face. Right where he could see it.

When the numbers started to move.

For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a way out. There was no quick escape. He was at the mercy of fate. At the mercy of coincidence and chance. At the mercy of someone else, collapsed on the floor, unable to move, a sitting duck that needed to be rescued. The moment when he knew he was defeated.

It damaged him, long before the brain damage set in, before the fire buried his skin, before he lost consciousness and woke up in his own grave. Before the incredible agony of being half-awake and half-dead for all of those days. Mindless days. Thoughtless days. Walking and existing and breathing and responding and thinking nothing. When his sharp mind failed him. When it simply stalled and began to shut down.

What broke him—what genuinely broke Jason—wasn’t the sensation of being dead. After all, he felt little during the experience. Lived as a hollow ghost of a boy when he first came back. Knew only pain and vague images and sounds, and in truth it didn’t mean anything in the scheme of things. No, that didn’t hurt him much at all, nothing beyond the physical frustration and the discomfort.

What broke Jason—what genuinely broke him—was the act of dying.

Of being murdered, defeated, beaten, burned, and allowed to die. When he wanted to believe Bruce was coming back— _knew_ Bruce was coming back—and had to accept that he wasn’t going to be fast enough. When Jason had to face his own failure, his failure to save himself, his failure to save his mother and his failure to do just _one_ more fucking thing right that day. If he had done one single thing right, it could’ve been the **right** thing. It could’ve been what kept him alive.

So Jason can remember what it felt like to die, in his dreams. When the flashback happens, startles him awake and leaves him in another sleepless night. But it’s no wonder that he can’t recall it very well, when he’s awake. Can’t savor those memories at all. Doesn’t want to. Can’t fight the revulsion and the agony of defeat when he thinks of it. So every minute he’s awake, he’s running from those memories. He’s locking them away deep inside his mind, until he can hopefully, eventually, never find them again.

Jason’s death wasn’t Bruce’s failure; it was his own. He has always known this.

So when he’s laying here, on the ground, blood pouring out of his neck he’s wondering if this is what it felt like to die.

But no. It’s not. Because the first time he died, it was…

It was his fault. And now, it… It will be…

This time, he will die because of Bruce.

It’s almost reassuring. Because Jason’s feeling that he did all he could do. He did everything he sought to do. He didn’t fall short of his own expectations, or Bruce’s. He provoked the devil, and the devil responded in kind.

But he’s feeling a different kind of sensation, that almost makes this moment worse than being broken the first time. A feeling that makes this hurt more than it did before.

Because Bruce.

_Bruce._

Don't you love me at all.


End file.
